The balance and shape of the world in its difficult geometry become an enigma to which I alone hold the keys.

The impulse to discuss a feeling of the sublime is a lingering presence that haunts me. Much like the sense of another world that is often so fleeting, the moments don’t align favorably and these thoughts remain locked away. As elusive as the meaning of this presence is, I can feel it often; when the wind rises and the leaves rustle with the energy of the unbridled spirit of the earth; when the sun hits glass and the world seems drenched in a honeyed and intoxicating fluid revelry. The shadows of the tussled trees cast memory into fleeting forms and throw me into a wilderness of imagination. Corrugated metal is a canvas upon which the light plays and makes a story that only I can interpret. Part of my role as a photographer is providing context, putting the pieces together and forming a narrative that is a part of my own journey and a reflection of something beyond my own knowledge.